


Pinned

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Butterflies, Engineering student Hux, M/M, San Francisco, eco-terrorist in the making Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8665423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: Inspired by a drawing by youdidnotseeme on tumblr (linked in the notes), written with permission.Butterfly catching is Hux's sole hobby, the only thing that keeps him sane even if his classmates make fun of him for it. He's in hot pursuit of a species he's never seen before when he comes across a very strange man just, sitting there on the ground.They chat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Image that inspired the work is [HERE](http://youdidnotseeme.tumblr.com/post/153260908281/i-had-this-stupid-thought-last-night-about)

He wasn’t an entomologist but a man has to have his hobbies, and butterfly collecting was Hux’s sole way to stay sane. It was a nearly two hour trip from the Stanford campus up to Twin Peaks, and his colleagues on his engineering course made fun of him for what seemed to them a frivolous activity, but without this one indulgence Hux was sure he’d snap. It wasn’t that he needed the time spent outdoors, or that he particularly relished trekking overground after an elusive flutter of colour. It wasn’t even that he appreciated the beauty of his collection for purely aesthetic reasons, though he could of course enjoy the iridescence of diaphanous wings, shining in their cases. What he liked best about it, after the chase, was examining the little insect, cross-referencing it against other species to classify and schematise it. Under each butterfly and moth, each with their delicate display pins, he affixed a hand written label, genus and species. Subspecies, sometimes. It was meditative. It kept him busy.  
The flash of vivid blue was new, and different. He didn’t think it was a species he’d seen before, and he approached cautiously as it alighted on a bit of scrub.

Of course it couldn’t be that easy, and the wind kicked up taking the butterfly with it. Typical. Hux followed after it, watching his step in the sandy soil. He’d never gone looking for butterflies in this area before, but he’d marched all over Golden Gate Park, even the Marin Headlands a few times. Next would be Muir Woods, but he was saving that for his next school break. For now, he’d have to be content with a Caltrain ride up to San Francisco.

There were some nice views of the City, up there, but Hux wasn’t focused on that. He was following the flicker of brilliant blue, almost invisible against the sky. When the breeze died down, he thought, /finally/ and watched the butterfly descend toward a small copse of trees. He hurried over, eyes scanning the area for that shock of intense blue, and spotted it, perched ever so daintily, on the nose of a strange boy.

Hux thought “boy” but the man sitting there, still as a statue barely blinking, was probably university-age. As Hux stood there, considering, the man slid his eyes over to look at him. He eyed Hux’s rucksack and butterfly net.

“You can’t catch this butterfly,” the man stated, and miraculously, even as he spoke, the butterfly didn’t move.

“What do you mean I /can’t/?” Did he mean because attempting it just then would mean hitting the man in the face? He wasn’t an /idiot/, he wouldn’t make a pratfall like that.

“I mean it’s against the law.” He turned his face slightly, just to look at Hux a bit more clearly, and the butterfly flittered up, then landed at the crown of the man’s head, atop his mop of loose black curls. “It’s a Mission blue butterfly. They’re endangered. Federally protected. Anyone who comes here should know it’s a conservation area.”

This man was exceedingly strange, and apparently some kind of butterfly whisperer, since the little insect kept fluttering up, before landing on him again. Perhaps the man smelled to the butterfly like another piece of the landscape, since his black shirt and shredded jeans did not look particularly clean.

“Are you a park ranger?”

The man scoffed. “Are you an idiot?” he countered. “Some people don’t need to be /paid/ to care about the environment.”

The butterfly flapped its wings, lifted lightly, landed on the man’s wrist. Hux barely registered it as motion in his periphery, too busy trying to quell the sudden and intense irritation at this smug, self-important /punk/.

“I suppose you think you’re so enlightened,” Hux sniffed. “Why don’t you just go back to your eco-commune and sing some kumbaya?”

“Is that what passes for an insult where you’re from?” For a moment it seemed as though the man was smiling but then the expression was gone just as fast. It made Hux’s heart do something strange and entirely uncalled for, and he forced a harsh breath out of his nose to quell it.

“What’s your name?” Hux asked, instead of rising to the bait. The butterfly had moved down to sit on the man’s knuckles, its wings opening and closing slowly.

“Kylo.”

Well that was a pseudonym if Hux had ever heard one.

“And what are you doing sitting there like a lemon, ‘Kylo’?”

“Well I can tell you I’m /not/ trying to kill an endangered animal so I can put it in a case for my own petty enjoyment.”

“Oh, good god,” Hux huffed. “You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t talk to me about suffering. You’re wearing leather shoes which were probably made in a Chinese sweatshop and then shipped overseas in a huge container ship, which burned tons of fossil fuels and might even have dumped a few dozen pounds of petrochemical byproduct pellets into the ocean as it went, contributing to the great pacific garbage patch, or the plastic-choked beaches of Hawaii, killing untold numbers of birds and poisoning fish and marine mammals and eventually, just to link this back to something you might actually care about, humans through bioaccumulation.” He delivered this diatribe in such a flat tone, it was almost flippant, dismissive. Hux lifted an eyebrow.

“I see, you’re one of those preachy vegetarians,” he sniped, but Kylo only cast his eyes back up at the trees.

“Actually, I’m a freegan.”

“Is that a french fry vegan?” Hux had heard of those. People who were vegetarian but only ate extremely unhealthy foods? Something like that.

“It means I don’t participate in the wasteful consumer culture surrounding food. I haven’t paid for a meal in years because so much perfectly good food is thrown away every day.”

“You’re a dumpster diver,” Hux summarized. Kylo nodded.

“And you’re, what, a tourist?” the infuriating man asked, and Hux flared with annoyance.

“I live in Stanford,” Hux corrected.

“A student, then.” Kylo’s eyes were very deep and dark when they focused on him, but when they caught a glint of sunlight, Hux could see they were a golden brown, the colour of raw honey.

“I’m studying for a Ph.D. in Engineering,” Hux said. He was quite proud of himself for that, but Kylo seemed unimpressed. Hux pressed on, certain it was impossible to live entirely off the grid in a major city. “What about you?” he asked. “What do you do?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Kylo answered venomously. He wasn’t looking at Hux. He was watching the butterfly walk over his fingers as he slowly moved them. “I collect recycling sometimes. You’d be astonished how few people actually know how to sort their fucking garbage. I moved to San Francisco because they’re actually /trying/ here. SF diverts eighty percent of its landfill waste into compost or recycling. They’re angling for one hundred percent by 2020.”

“Is that– that’s not possible.”

“It is if producers are pressured not to be so careless. You wonder why you can hardly get a plastic bag in the City, and why a paper bag costs ten cents? That’s why.” He inclined his head at Hux and raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Now if people could just eat and consume local goods only, we could do away with all of the problems of shipping.”

“That’s an awfully pro-government sentiment coming from… What are you, a communist?” Hux knew he was getting sucked in, and that these types of arguments were totally pointless. It’s impossible to 'catch’ someone who believes their doctrine is iron-clad.

“I wouldn’t call myself a communist, not totally.”

Hux was tired of standing, and eased down to sit on a patch of wild coastal strawberry, not yet fruiting.

“The problem with communism,” Kylo went on, “is that it’s too concerned with what happens to /people/, and people are the fucking worst. I mean, it would be fine if humanity could live in small, self-sufficient communities– Eco-communes, sure, like you said. But there are seven and a half billion of us crawling around on the planet Earth. There are too many of us.”

“But isolated communities breed social echo chambers,” Hux protested. He’d lived in rural towns before, back in Britain. He knew what people were like when they never got outside their own back gardens.

To his surprise, Kylo nodded.

“I know. I know!” His shout startled the butterfly, or perhaps it was the way his body jerked with it, and it flittered up to land on his shoulder. “There’s just no good way.” His expression had darkened, his heavy brows knit. “Still, there really are too many people. The population has doubled in the last forty years, and it’ll probably double again by 2050, if nothing is done to stop it.”

“Well, what do you propose?” Hux asked, fishing in his rucksack for his water bottle. “Birth control in the water supply?” He sloshed water around in the container as if to illustrate his point. Kylo would probably appreciate that it was a reusable canteen, at least.

Kylo shrugged and the butterfly crawled down to his chest, as Hux tipped his head back to drink.

“I don’t know,” Kylo said. “But something’s got to give.”

A chill went up Hux’s spine at the way he said that, as if Kylo himself wouldn’t mind being instrumental in the thinning of the herd. Hux hadn’t thought much about it, himself– the growing global population seemed to him a sort of distant factoid. But, as he watched the brilliant hues of the butterfly shift in the early afternoon light, he had to admit: urban expansion did take its toll.

“What’s your name?” Kylo asked, finally. It had taken him long enough. A true misanthrope, Hux thought.

“Hux,” he replied, watching the golden light play across Kylo’s distinctive features. It was a shame the man was such a self-satisfied ass, because he was… well. Fairly nice to look at.

Kylo didn’t ask about the unusual name, didn’t ask if that was a first name or as last name, as people often did. He only nodded solemnly, and licked his chapped lips.

“Are you thirsty?” Hux asked, offering his canteen.

Kylo reached out a hand, and as their fingertips touched against the cool metal, the butterfly finally lifted itself, and fluttered away.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so self-satisfied possible eco-terrorist isn’t exactly an 'innocent’ like in the original post but I hope you guys liked it?


End file.
